


Enough To Feel All [Right]

by Rubynye



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, M/M, Wheelchairs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-22
Updated: 2011-08-22
Packaged: 2017-10-22 22:52:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/243468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/pseuds/Rubynye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>May I?</i> Erik thinks, and Charles's response is a delirious rush of consent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enough To Feel All [Right]

**Author's Note:**

> Acknowledgements: [](http://xmen-firstclass.livejournal.com/profile)[**xmen_firstclass**](http://xmen-firstclass.livejournal.com/) , for which I wrote this; whomever prompted "[ I really want [to] see Erik ride Charles whilst he's in his wheelchair](http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/397.html?thread=884365#t884365)"; the questioner and answerer in [this discussion](http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/397.html?thread=995469#t995469); and the incomparable [Melissima](http://melissima.livejournal.com/) for advice and cheerleading..  
>  _Disclaimer:_ This fanwork has been created for pleasure only and not for profit.  
>  Title from "And She Was" by the Talking Heads.

Charles is dozing at his desk, head laid upon his outstretched arm, when the kiss on his head wakes him. His hair is trimmed short these days, and the kiss pressed into it is warm and lingering, gentle and fond. He stirs slowly -- he hasn't been sleeping enough, too much to do and too many dreams -- smiling as he turns his head, opening his eyes, reaching out --

\-- he meets a void in the world, a blank and polished wall, that brings him sharply awake. Charles pushes himself upright with all the dignity he can muster, looking up at the imposing man standing in his shadow-filled office, the faint nighttime lights gleaming off that helmet's implacable curve. He should politely say, "Magneto." He could snap, "To what do I owe this visit?" He might worry about what dire news this may portend. Instead, he looks up, searching the gap in the helmet for the face still so dear to him.

Then Erik smiles, broad and bittersweet, as he lifts off the helmet like the first step of disrobing, and the feel of his mind is firm-edged and so warm Charles feels all his wariness melt away. "Hello, Charles," Erik says in a resonant voice, in a tone Charles has only heard amidst the soft folds of night.

Charles could reach out and find out why Erik's here, what he's planning, what his next salvo will be, but he can no more respond to this shocking openness with ruthless pillaging than he can muster any other reply but, "Erik."

"I was in the neighborhood," Erik says, answering the first of a thousand unvoiced questions, a flash of steel in his eyes as he continues, "by myself." Even so, he steps around Charles's desk to lean hipshot against it, dressed in black from supple boots to customary turtleneck, and when Charles reaches forward and hooks one hand's fingers in Erik's belt loops it's as if years and time and changes have all been undone.

But Charles has not yet met the mutant who can effect that. There are new creases around Erik's eyes, a silver hair at his temple like a scar and a new scar tucked into a line on his face, and when he bends to Charles again he smells mouthwateringly familiar but his lips press warmly against Charles's incipient bald spot.

Charles clutches Erik's hips with both hands and rubs his cheek upwards along the weave of Erik's turtleneck and the lean muscle beneath; Erik bends to him and kisses him full on the mouth, as open and shocking and sweet in microcosm as his entire appearance tonight. The mansion slumbers around them, no other minds awake for miles, and for a long moment there seems to be nothing in the world but Erik dropping slowly to his knees as he cups Charles's face in his elegant hands and kisses him the whole way down.

 _May I?_ Erik thinks, and Charles's response is a delirious rush of consent; Erik leans back and Charles leans forward into the kiss before he can stop himself. When he manages, when their lips part, Charles finds Erik smiling, narrow-mouthed but soft, a tinge of sadness in his eyes as he strokes down Charles's chin and throat and Charles trembles under his hands. Erik's deft fingers slide into the open collar of Charles's shirt, making quick work of the buttons down his chest, and Charles blinks and considers that he still hasn't even asked Erik why he's here.

So he asks with a thought, mouth still too stunned and warm for words, and Erik answers, "To seduce you, of course," his smile tilting crookedly.

Charles catches the hands at his waist, folding his fingers over Erik's. "You came all this way just for me?" His light tone can't quite hide his incredulity.

Erik lifts his hands, and Charles doesn't hinder him, sliding his hold to Erik's swathed wrists as Erik pushes Charles's shirt open, letting go only when Erik slides his fingers beneath Charles's undershirt and up to trace the muscles of his ribs. "And miles further to go yet," Erik murmurs, his mind whispering of the uncertainty of ever returning.

"What are you going to do?" Charles whispers, as Erik's hands trail over his awakening skin, and Erik's smile grows wider and tighter, a long sardonic line across his face. He pushes up again and Charles takes the kiss, cupping Erik's sleek-haired head in his hands, resisting the furious temptation to invade the universe behind Erik's closed eyes.

Erik pulls back again, his hands leaving Charles's skin, reaching down to adjust the positions of Charles's thighs, one and the other. "Something I expect even you will not disapprove of, my friend." He glances up, bright eyes daring Charles to rummage his mind, to abuse this truce.

Charles doesn't. His mouth twists wryly, and so does Erik's, but as Erik leans in again to press their chests together, their mouths untwist and soften against each other's. Charles feels his belt undo itself, Erik's hands sweeping from sensation to nothingness as he tugs Charles's pants down his hips, but much more presently he sinks into the deep warmth of Erik's lips, the soft slide of tongue.

This time when Erik breaks the kiss it's to trail his lips across Charles's cheek, murmuring, "Go on, feel what I feel." Thus invited Charles does, the sensations of his own stray stubble prickling lightly at Erik's kiss-tenderized mouth, the blameless skin of his thighs under Erik's hands. The curling warmth of Erik's breath in his ear makes him shiver, and he feels his own trembling echoed as Erik feels it. "I want you to fuck me," Erik whispers, hot and low, and those words jolt through Charles exactly as they always have.

"Certainly," he agrees, "my bed --"

"No, here, against your desk, in your chair. May we?" Erik asks, and Charles simply has to turn his head and push into another kiss.

After all, he can think, _Yes, oh yes,_ as easily as say it, feel the smile in Erik's mind as easily as see it.

Erik leaves him for a moment, brief but bereft, stands up tall and straight as he strips off his clothes with hands and powers both. Charles closes his hands tightly around his chair's arms and watches Erik's boots and pants wrench themselves off him as he peels the turtleneck over his head; as ever he's wearing nothing beneath but his own lightly tanned, scar-laced skin.

There are a few more scars than last time. Charles lays his hands on Erik's flanks, tugging him forwards by his waist, and there's a metallic shuffle as a half dozen or so paperclips arc off the desk into Erik's hand. "What on Earth do you intend to do with those?"

"You'll see," is all Erik says, teeth flashing teasingly, and Charles heaves a put-upon sigh, gladder than he wants to admit of the easy banter. But Erik folds gracefully to his knees again, all long lean lines of muscle, and Charles slides his hands over Erik's shoulderblades and watches through his mind as he takes Charles into his mouth.

By now Charles has had some time to get used to the diminished sensation, hardly more than distant flashes. What he feels in himself is Erik's hand flattened over his breastbone as if to restrain his thudding heart, the pressure of Erik's bowed head against his belly; what he feels from Erik is his own cock filling in Erik's mouth, heavy and hard and fondly familiar on Erik's tongue. They learned each other well, that summer and fall before everything changed, and Charles reflects, even as he gasps under the stereo barrage of pleasure, that no matter how long they spend apart nor how bitterly, neither of them will ever forget a single detail.

 _Thinking too much_ drifts through his mind -- his own thought? Erik's? -- and Erik's hand shifts, longest fingertip pressing Charles's nipple until it aches beautifully, in the same rhythm as his tongue flexes along Charles's cock. Charles can directly feel just the apex of the stroke, against the underside of the head, but he can feel every muscular press from Erik's point of view, his own mouth watering as he tastes Erik's enjoyment.

At length Erik pulls back, gasping a little, and grins up at Charles from between his knees. "Ready?"

"Come up here," Charles counters, tugging Erik's square shoulders. "Come here and let me suck you first."

Erik's eyes flash under flickering lids, and he presses his face to Charles's belly for a long shuddering moment. "If I had the night," he murmurs, and unfolds from the floor, a loop of metal spinning over his palm. The loop settles into a gleaming ring, and Charles's breath catches on a memory. They took two recruiting trips to California, and on the second Erik took him sightseeing one night and one day in San Francisco...

Erik smiles with the same reminiscent thought as he gently fits the loop to Charles's cock. "There," he says, sliding a knee onto the seat, and Charles sharply clears his throat. "What?"

"I think you've forgotten a step," Charles points out, folding his arms between them to keep himself from wreathing them around Erik's waist. Erik lifts an eyebrow, fond amused impatience washing through him, and Charles adds, "I don't want to feel you hurting yourself on me."

"Very well, I defer to your sensibilities." Charles pushes back the heat in his mind long enough to remember which drawer of bric-a-brac holds a half-empty tube of hand cream; Erik makes a production of pulling it out with his power as he leans down to kiss the last scraps of sense out of Charles's head. Charles feels the slickness under Erik's fingers as they slide down his own engorged but nearly insensate flesh, the tops of Erik's thighs pressing long and muscular around his waist as Erik kneels over him, the chair humming beneath them as Erik holds it stable with his power. His breath roughens against Charles's mouth as he pushes down, and Charles's hands slide over the dimpled curve of his lower back, two fingertips dipping into his heated cleft to feel him easing open, taking Charles in.

One hand tight on Charles's shoulder, the other braced by his head, Erik hisses and bears down, and Charles thinks, _So fast, too fast._ Erik growls at that, shoving himself down with determination as palpable as his nose alongside Charles's, as their shuddering chests pressed together. An edged wave of pleasure slices through him, through them both, and Charles's arms tighten helplessly around Erik solid and shaking in his hold. Erik smiles against Charles's lips and tilts his head into another plunging kiss, offering his own tongue to muffle Charles as he rocks up and down ruthlessly, almost roughly, bruising pleasure into himself.

Charles was always the loud one, until Erik chose to raise his voice. He moans now as Erik's chest drags his undershirt over his tingling nipples and Erik's trembling propagates into him, as the hot pressing surge of penetration streams down Erik's nerves into his and Erik's rising pleasure hazes his mind as well. The two streams mingle and merge, Erik's sensations and Charles's building on each other, and when Charles thinks to pull his hand down and curl it between them around Erik's cock, Erik's own groan is muffled between their mouths and thunderous between their minds.

 _Yes,_ Charles thinks, _please_ and _do it_ and _let me feel you_ , and Erik floods him with the ecstasy and the regret and the need and underneath all of it the love. He wrenches his mouth away from Charles's and Charles gasps aloud, sinks his teeth in Charles's ear with a fierce mental chuckle as he makes Charles struggle to suppress a keen. _Oh, yes,_ Erik thinks back to him, _mine_ and _Charles_ , earnest as a prayer, and Charles clutches Erik, feeling every pulse under his fingers and rippling through Erik's body, how good it is to squeeze down around Charles as he comes, every surging gasp.

There's no boundary or edge as Charles's own pleasure overflows, from Erik's, from himself, from everything they are together; wave after wave crashes through him and he shares them all with Erik, a recursive current of orgasm as they pour into each other until they finally wash up wracked and breathless on the shore. Charles comes down gasping for both of them, cheek burning against Erik's blazing temple, feeling the dents of his own fingers dug into the flesh over Erik's ribs, and Erik manages a weak dry chuckle but beneath it Charles can feel him just as melted open, taste him on every breath, their minds still streaming together.

" _Erik,_ " Charles thinks or maybe gasps, and Erik turns his heavy head enough to kiss him, their mouths tingling together as they spiral down and eventually disentangle bit by bit. At length Charles pulls away from Erik's sensations, lets him have his mind to himself again, though he feels almost lonely to do it, even with Erik still pressed to him and panting against his neck.

At length Erik smiles, and shifts away, pushing himself up with a creaky little groan. "Well," he murmurs, and steps backwards off Charles's chair, and Charles can hardly see his legs tremble.

He doesn't let himself reach out for the feeling of standing on shaky feet.

He smiles up at Erik as the blood streams warmly beneath his skin, and Erik smiles back for one heartstopping moment, then turns and heads for the bathroom attached to the office. Charles takes a steadying breath, leans back into his chair and reaches out across the mansion. Everyone's still asleep, and Charles leaves their dreams alone and waits for Erik to return to him.

When he does brings a damp handtowel with him, and they clean up and dress in companionable silence, their minds humming beside each other. Erik rolls the gleaming ring on his palm, recalling the metal's former shapes, but Charles has a sufficiency of paper clips. "Leave it, please?" he asks, and lets himself add, "so in the morning this will be more than just a dream?"

Erik smirks at Charles's romantic foolishness, but wordlessly lets the ring down onto his desk, then leans back against it and takes Charles's hand between his two. "I should have left already."

"I wish you'd stay."

Erik's smile twists again, already dimming, and when he leans in to kiss Charles he presses his lips to the center of Charles's forehead, to the spot where Charles felt the coin burrow through flesh and bone on its agonizing journey through Shaw's head. They both remember the exact place.

"At least don't get anyone killed," Charles admonishes, because he must, and Erik squeezes his hand and lets go, leaning back, turning away. "Especially yourself."

Erik turns back, eyebrows raised. "Especially, Charles? Am I so special?"

"Yes, you are," Charles tells him, with word and with thought, and Erik's eyes widen, for just a second but long enough.

Even so, he steps further away, picking up his wretched helmet, and Charles doesn't ask him to put it down, doesn't think that he could smash it flat. Charles lifts his chin and watches Erik slip it on, hiding his hair, his eyebrows, his face, his soul. "Will you tell Raven about this visit?" he asks, now that Erik can freely lie to him.

But he believes Erik's, "Yes," and "I'll give her your love," as they share one more sardonic smile. And when Erik says, "Charles, do you know what I'm thinking of?" and Charles shakes his head, watching him recede into the night, he believes Erik's eyes as he steps away into the shadows, and his last word of, "Genosha."

Charles's office door turns noiselessly on its hinges, and Erik is gone, leaving Charles behind. He considers Genosha's enslaved mutants and the warmth lingering inside him, and thinks that for this once he might agree with Erik after all.


End file.
